


039 - Car Games...

by storiesaboutvan



Category: Catfish and the Bottlemen (Band)
Genre: F/M, Reader-Insert, Smut
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2019-01-18
Updated: 2019-01-18
Packaged: 2019-10-12 05:26:14
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,106
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/17461448
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/storiesaboutvan/pseuds/storiesaboutvan
Summary: A fic about: Sex, kind of. Car games. Van not being allowed to touch.





	039 - Car Games...

"Van. If we break the rules even once, the whole system descends into chaos,"

"But it will be good for you!"

"For you, you mean. You like touching me more than you like me touching you. Which, by the way, I will try not to read into."

Van stands in front of you swaying from one foot to the other. His hands are behind his back and he has a stupid grin on his face. You can see the residual energy in him. The show had been cancelled because the outside venue was rained out. Everyone packed up and left for home. You and Van spent the ride counting cars. The game was to pick a colour, and whoever saw the most cars in that colour won. The victor won the prize of being able to tease the absolute fuck out of the other person. Kissing. Touching over clothes. Sordid words. The loser was denied any real physical contact, and was doomed to spend the night suffering the hell of being turned on with no foreseeable fix.

Van picked blue and won. He was doing his best to drive you crazy but he couldn't focus, and an unfocused and hyped up Van was more cute than hot. Now, he wanted to break the rules and take you to bed. You shook your head no again and looked beyond him at the television screen. There is a marathon on The Food Network of Ace of Cakes, and you love how excited and sweet Duff is. Van drops to his knees and holds his hands together to pray.

“Y/N, I will beg if you want me to,"

"Nah, I'm good,"

"Anything. I will do anything,"

"Yeah, I can see that but I mostly just want to see the T.V. so you're gonna have to move your pretty head, alright?"

He stands up and dramatically walks out the room. You smile to yourself. When he doesn't return within the minute you begin to worry. It's like having children in the house. If there is noise and chaos, it's fine. If you can't hear what they're up to, then there's a problem. You feel as though it's probably a trap. You stay on the couch and wait.

He does return and he's no calmer but he doesn't say anything. He sits in the single armchair. His legs are spread apart wide, and one bounces. He has one arm on the armrest, and the other is up near his face where he's chewing on a nail. He's watching you and you try to ignore it.

"I have an idea," he finally says. You roll your head to look at him and shrug. "I won't touch you. You can touch you. That's not against the rules,"

"That is still dependent on me wanting to."

His eyes are a brilliant blue and when he gets like this the sparkle dulls and a stormy expression finds a home in them.

"This is what will happen," he starts and you roll your head back and pretend to stop listening. "You'll take your clothes off, all of them, and sit in front of me. I'll spread your legs and kiss your neck but that's all. Not against the rules," he's using the deep voice that is usually reserved for the breakdowns of songs, "and then you can touch yourself. Everybody wins."

You literally bite the tip of your tongue in your mouth to stop a grin from breaking out. At first you think you're just amused, but then your body involuntarily squirms in the seat and you can feel the warm tingly feeling wash through you. It's like Van knows. He moves to sit next to you and you're painfully aware of how close, how touchable he is. You keep looking forward. He carefully moves your hair to the side, away from your neck. He leans in and presses his head to yours and his lips ghost over your skin; goosebumps, and the warm feeling turns to fire. He kissed your neck lightly, gently, then he bites and you flinch. It's enough of a reaction that you lose. You turn to him.

"Yeah?" he confirms rather than asks. You don't move, but he knows. "Yeah!"

He turns the television off and pushes the coffee table back towards it, leaving space on the floor. He stays standing and points to you then the ground. "Sit," he commands. There is a lack of authority in his voice, but the playfulness is a turn on, and you slide onto the floor and look up at him. "Clothes." You strip down completely and sit with your knees drawn into your chest. Van moves to sit behind you, your back to his chest, and his legs spread out. He pushes your knees down and coaxes your legs apart.

The silence in the house is stunning. You can hear your heartbeat, and the sound of Van's hand sliding along your legs. Your palms are firmly pressed to the floor. You let him touch. Your head falls back onto his shoulder, and he kisses your neck. His hands roam across your thighs, stomach, breasts, and arms. He keeps your head where it is with one hand threaded tightly through your hair. The other keeps moving, touching, teasing. "Start," Van growls into your ear.

You'd been with Van for years, but you'd never done this. You'd never been watched like this and it made you nervous. You try to steady your breathing as your hand starts to do what you won't allow of Van. You didn't anticipate it being this good. It is pure power, him having to watch you make yourself cum, but not being able to contribute. You can feel how hard he is, and his constant shifting only highlights that more. He gets more restless, and stops touching. His arms are wrapped tight around your waist and his head sits on your shoulder. He's watching and his breathing is almost as fast as yours. You arch into him in the last few seconds of the orgasm and as soon as your toes uncurl Van is standing and pulling you up off the ground. You're unsteady on your feet, so he picks you up like a bride and starts to carry you down the hall. You like the feeling of being naked against him while he's fully clothed.

"Can't break the rules, Ryan," you mock. There isn't one tiny part of him that cares about the rules after the show. The bedroom door slams closed behind him with a kick, and you're plunged into the warm darkness of his want.

**Author's Note:**

> I accidentally read the last line of this fic as I copied it over from Tumblr. IT'S HORRIBLE. Gross. GROSSSSS. It's like... Fifty Shades bad. Kill me.


End file.
